


Right Here

by Strump



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF - Freeform, Panic Attacks, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:25:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strump/pseuds/Strump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, there's pain. He becomes aware of the constricting of his chest and the ragged breaths he draws rapidly to quench his starving lungs. </p><p>Sebastian helps Chris deal with a panic attack.<br/>EvanStan fluff!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little oneshot fluff that popped into my head!! :)  
> I don't own Marvel or either of these actors!

            At first, there's pain. He becomes aware of the constricting of his chest and the ragged breaths he draws rapidly to quench his starving lungs. It's centralized in the beginning, located to one sharp pain directly over his heart that slowly blossoms to encompass his entire chest. He curls in the corner of the room, eyes fluttered shut against the bright fluorescents that bore into his soul. His ears are ringing and his mouth is tingling. Fingers spasm into jeans, knees curled to chest in an effort to sink into himself, to disappear from a world that won't stop staring. A gasping hiccup erupts from his mouth, punctuated by a cough that burns his throat. It sounds louder in the suffocating silence of the room, the first room he'd seen on his frantic journey to escape the eyes. He thinks it might be a dressing room. He doesn't care.

            He sniffles in a sad attempt to clear his blocked nose. There is a sudden downpour from his nostrils that winds down to his lips slowly. The coppery taste makes him jolt and cough again. Nosebleed.

            He squeezes his legs tighter to his chest, wondering when he'd become so fucking big and why he couldn't curl up like he used to anymore. He can't remember what caused the panic. Muffled sobs rake from his chest, interrupting the slow and constant burn in his stomach with punctuated bursts of flames. The icy hands of paralyzing  fear clutch around his heart and constrict his lungs. And god, it hurts. Every movement, every short inhaled burst of air, feels like a knife. He presses his eyes into his knee caps and prays that it will be over soon. That he will be able to go back out there before the interview is supposed to start, that they will be none the wiser. His hands are shaking, no, his entire frame is shaking, trembling like a leaf in a tornado. His head spins and he faintly wonders what would happen if he were to pass out and never wake up again. He quickly banishes the thought.

            "I think I saw him go this way." A muffled voice, a stage manager, speaks just outside the door. Chris pushes his mouth into his legs to muffle his screaming, horrified sobs, and hopes that they can't hear his heart beating a frenzied rhythm in the hallway, because it sounds like a marching band to him.

            "Thanks." He doesn't look up when the door opens, and softly shuts again. "Hey." The voice is right in front of him, but Chris doesn't look up. He doesn't want anyone to see him this way. It's his burden to bare and his alone. "You're bleeding." A thumb swipes across his lips, clearing the nearly dry blood. He shudders and releases a pitiful whimper. "Let it out. I'm right here." Chris shakes his head dizzingly fast and tries to fold in on himself. There's a shuffle, a grunt, and then arms come around him. A shoulder is pressed firmly to his left one, a strong presence enfolding him like a cage of protection in a lion's den. Chris feels safe. "It's okay to be scared, or anxious." Chris doesn't look up, but the hand on his arm is warm and solid. "I'm right here." He repeats. Chris can't hold it in anymore. He shoves his face into Sebastian's shoulder and screams so loud it makes his own ears ring even more. Sebastian pulls Chris into a tight embrace, forming a protective barrier around the other actor who is clearly at his wit's end.

            And Sebastian is _there._ He's strong, and solid, and he's holding Chris in a way that he thought only his mom could hold him in. He holds him so tightly that Chris thinks he might shatter, but it doesn't matter because he already has and he needs somebody to put his pieces back together. Fingers rake through his sweaty hair and knead his tense shoulders. Sebastian's voice is rumbling through his chest, and Chris vaguely recognizes that he's clearly not speaking English. The words are low and soothing, and Sebastian's voice has always had a calming effect on the taller actor.

            His chest is still burning. His lungs are starving for oxygen, and there are black spots dancing in his eyes when he opens them, still damp, and stares into slate blue eyes. He's startled by the understanding, the respect, and the solemn acceptance he sees in them. Sebastian doesn't make fun of him. He doesn't point and laugh. He doesn't tell Chris to get over it. He holds his co-star, his best friend, and makes sure that the man knows he is not alone.

            And of course Sebastian gets it. They all get it. It's an occupational hazard, anxiety. But Chris has always suffered from it, and it's only gotten worse with the rise in popularity of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. He's starred in five movies, and he'd always thought that being in the lime light would get easier the longer he'd been in it, but it only gets harder.

            He's trembling, and his hearing has cut out, but he can feel Sebastian's chest vibrating with words he wouldn't be able to understand anyway. He lets his eyes flutter shut and allows his worries to drift into nothing, because Sebastian is his best friend, and he is here, and he will always be here.

            "I got blood all over your shirt." Chris jokes miserably after a few minutes of calming his raging heart and heaving chest. Sebastian chuckles and Chris feels it vibrate through him, relieving him of any remaining tension from the full force panic attack.

            "It was a horrid shirt anyway." Sebastian replies. Chris lets out a meek laugh, sitting up from his co-star and wiping the remains of tears off of his cheeks. Blue eyes meet blue eyes in a mutual understanding and Sebastian suddenly has a box of tissues in his hands, from the side table near the couch of the room they're in. He yanks a tissue out of the box and reaches forward, scrubbing the caked blood off of Chris's top lip. "Besides, I probably look more badass now." He shrugs.

            Chris laughs for real then, throwing his head back and grabbing the left side of his chest, and Sebastian giggles along with him and allows relief to calm his raging heart. Because nothing had been scarier to him than finding Chris huddled in a broken pile of tears in the middle of Scarlett's dressing room, and he has to remind himself that Chris is okay, he is alive, and he is perfectly healthy.

            Chris's chest still hurts, and there's still a pit of fire burning dully in his stomach. But when he stands up, Sebastian claps a steadying hand onto his shoulder and beams at him, a bright 100 watt smile that Chris can't help but return full force, and he knows that with Sebastian at his side, he will be okay.


End file.
